


In Blackest Night

by Red_Asphodel



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't worry, F/M, Storybrooke, The Dark One loves mind games, the Dark One takes over, there's a HEA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:44:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Asphodel/pseuds/Red_Asphodel
Summary: When Rumpelstiltskin’s heart turned black, he begged Belle to flee Storybrooke before he became the Dark One completely. Sometimes, Belle wishes she had listened to him.Dark themes with eventual HEA. Set in a familiar but AU Storybrooke where Rumpel pretended to give Belle the dagger but remained the Dark One in secret. Canon origination story for the Darkness/Dark One is pretty much totally and completely ignored.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My mind tends to dwell a lot on 'what ifs,' and I've always been intrigued by the notion of the Dark One fully taking over Rumpelstiltskin's heart, as it almost did in Season 4. For better or worse, this is the result. 
> 
> Please note that this is AU and belongs in no particular season, though it could fit in well enough following their marriage. There will be some dark themes here (the Dark One is not squishy, y'all), and I'll add warnings and tags as needed, but you can expect an honest to goodness happily ever after. 
> 
> I've been a longtime reader of Rumbelle fanfiction, but this is my first foray writing in this fandom. Reviews are certainly welcome :)

Afterwards, when Belle had little else to do but remember and regret, she thought of those days after their wedding. How happy they had been then, so utterly and naively happy. Life had been quiet, simple, and they’d reveled in it, gloried in the gift that it was. They’d made plans and dreamed dreams, enchanted by the gentle but seemingly unending strength of their own true love.

Until the day that his heart had turned black.

Belle had never even seen it coming.

It was a Tuesday, rainy and cold. Few dared to brave the outdoors in a cold, late autumn rain in Maine, so Belle had closed the library early, then hurried home to start dinner.

When twilight came, and Rumpelstiltskin still wasn’t home, Belle hadn’t worried. It wasn’t unusual for Rumpel’s hours to vary. The pawnshop was a second home to him, which didn’t bother her in the least, since he was more than willing to share that second home with her too. He’d tinker about there, or consider deals brought to him by the more desperate of Storybrooke’s citizens.

She didn’t love it, the deal-making, but she had learned to live with it. No one said loving a reformed Dark One was easy. Besides, with the dagger safely in her care, there hadn’t been too much to worry about. She trusted him, and he trusted her, and together they would only grow stronger.

When eight o’clock came and went, she’d phoned the shop. When he hadn’t answered, she’d phoned again. Finally, blowing out the candles on the table, she’d set out to find him, and only then did she think to worry.

She’d had every right to. Belle found him on the floor of the shop, leaning against one of the display cases and clutching his chest. She’d cried his name, dropping to the floor beside him and urgently stroking his face, begging him to tell her what was wrong.

Belle had wanted to call for help, but Rumpelstiltskin had waylaid her, clutching her hands in a painful grip. “It’s too late. Too late, my dearest, best love.”

“Too late?” Her hands had fluttered uselessly, and she wondered, as she recalled that horrible night, what it was she’d thought she could do.

There was nothing, of course. She’d been powerless. She _was_ powerless.

“My heart, Belle…” Rumpel’s voice had been reedy and thin, twisting her own heart to hear it. “It’s turned black. Too many deals, too many years… Too much _darkness_.”

“You’re not dark, Rumpel,” Belle had insisted, finding strength in her absolute belief that what she spoke was the truth. “You’re _good_. You’ve given up your past, turned to the light.”

“No, no. Listen, Belle. _Listen to me_.” He’d spoken those words harshly, and Belle had watched him with wide eyes then, foreboding sliding like cold fingers to the pit of her stomach.

“The dagger you hold is not the real dagger. A trick. I tricked you.” He’d coughed, one of his hands slipping to clutch uselessly over his chest. “Power. It was all about power. We were safer with power, safer so long as I could control the magic. It was for us, for _us_ , Belle.”

“Yes, my love.” What else could she have said? By then, some part of her had realized the truth. Rumpel was dying there in her arms, and no magic in the world could save him.

“But all magic comes with a price, and now…” Another breathless spasm had wracked his body. “Now the Dark One will have my heart. There will be nothing, _nothing_ of me left. I’m sorry, Belle. I thought I had more time, thought I could win in the end.”

She’d soothed him, shushing him as a mother did her child and placing a kiss to the crown of his head. She’d wanted to call Emma, or even Regina. She was no expert in magic and curses, in spells and cures, not the way they were. Perhaps it was the part of her that knew the truth that kept her there, kneeling on the floor with a fading Rumpel in her arms. Perhaps it had been the way he’d clung to her hand so desperately.

“Go, far away. When the man is gone, only the Dark One remains. And that… _That_ is more dangerous than you could ever imagine.”

“I won’t leave you.” Fool that she was, Belle had thought such a thing impossible. She would not leave the man that she loved, not for anything.

“Promise me. _Promise_ me that you’ll… You’ll…”

And those were the last words that Rumpelstiltskin had spoken to her.

Now, in the wide, luxurious room that was part of her prison, Belle tried to imagine what else he might have said, had death not claimed him then.

Or rather, had the Dark One not extinguished what was left of Rumpelstiltskin’s heart.

But it mattered little. He was gone. Rumpelstiltskin had died before her eyes. She’d seen him draw his last pained breath, felt the moment his fingers had loosened their grip on her hand. Her tears had spilled upon his still, still face, and she had watched, as if from a distance, as one tracked its way across his forehead and into one sightless eye.

And then something horrible had happened.

He’d blinked.

For one brief, unbelievable moment, Belle had dared to hope. True love, she thought. True love had saved him, for she’d pressed one last desperate kiss to his lips as his life had slipped away from him. He was back, spared, and now they could finally, _finally_ have their happy ending.

But no. Those eyes that blinked in the dim light of the pawn shop were not his. The color was the same, and the shape, but they were larger somehow. Larger and _cold_.

So very, very cold.

“Rum?” she whispered, little more than a trembling exhalation.

Those eyes shot to hers, as swift and unrelenting as any predator’s.

This was not Rumpelstiltskin.

This was the Dark One.

“No, oh no,” Belle had sobbed, falling back from where she crouched beside him. She scrambled away, never taking his eyes off of him, until her back met the opposite display counter. The Dark One had unfurled himself with slow, fluid grace, rising from the floor with a considering gleam in his cold eyes.

His first action? To adjust the cuffs of his sleeves, adjust the hem of his jacket so that it fell just so.

Let it never be said that the Dark One was anything but stylish.

He’d looked over at her then, and if she’d thought the cold look in his eyes was frightening, then nothing could have prepared her for the heat, the satisfaction that flooded them next.

“Oh, Belle,” the Dark One had sighed in Rumpelstiltskin’s voice, and she’d recoiled as he took a step closer, for all the good it had done her with the display case at her back. “You never were one to listen when you should.”

Crouching down to meet her at eye level, Belle had been rigid with fear and sick with despair as he drew his hand from her temple to her chin, then from her throat to her sternum, his fingers dipping ever so slightly beneath the fabric of her blouse.

“You should have run while you still had the chance, dearie.”

* * *

 

From somewhere in the mansion, Belle could hear the sound of a door slamming. Brought fully back to the present, she climbed to her feet, wrapping her arms around one of the elaborately carved posters of the bed.

Her husband, the Dark One, was home.

Forcing herself to step away from the bed, Belle raised her chin, dry eyes facing the door that would lead her to him.

“Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow,” she whispered into the dark of the room, and then crossed the room. It was her mantra, her guiding light when she was so sure that there was nothing but despair left.

For what braver thing was there than to face the Dark One, night after night?


	2. Chapter 2

The silence was nearly absolute as Belle descended the first set of stairs. It weighed on her some days, the emptiness of the vast mansion the Dark One called his home. He’d formed it using his dark magic, twisting the very aether to do his bidding until the black monolith had taken shape.

In a particularly cruel act, he’d laid the foundations for this new structure where the home she’d shared with Rumpelstiltskin had once stood. With a snap of his fingers, the charming pink house—and all the houses surrounding it—had been swallowed up in black, billowy smoke.

He’d smiled at Belle as he’d done it, snaking his arm around her waist to pull her closer.

“I can do better, you know. Much, _much_ better.”

Belle did not consider the mansion better, but it was certainly bigger. A small forest had sprung up around it, flattening the rest of the neighborhood entirely.

But of course, the Dark One had not been content to keep his new seat of power hidden behind the trees. With a wink in Belle’s direction, he’d lifted his free hand, palm to the sky, and hummed with satisfaction as the land around them had shaken, then _risen_ , until both they and the house towered above Storybrooke.

In a way, Belle was glad he’d done that. Now, when she wandered through the empty house in the daylight hours, she could still see the little town through the tall windows of the mansion.

At least that way she knew it still stood.

“And where is the little wife this evening, hmm?”

The Dark One’s voice echoed throughout the house. Belle knew he was waiting for her in the mansion's opulent foyer, where even a whisper could be heard a story above.

How glad Belle was that her room was at the back of the house, in the corner where she could view the sea. It gave her a chance to steady herself as she moved towards the grand staircase at the front of the house, where her husband’s eyes could follow her every move as she descended.

And he was her husband. Not the man she had married, no, but the body remained the same.

And, as far as the Dark One was concerned, the vows she’d made to Rumpelstiltskin applied to him as well.

He did not ask her opinion on the matter.

“I’m here,” she said as she approached the marble banister of the gallery. Light blazed from the black chandelier in the foyer, and she felt exposed, somehow, like an animal spotted by a patient hunter.

“At last, she descends,” the Dark One said grandly, always and ever a showman. His voice was the same as her Rumpel’s, and yet so very different. It was cruel where his had been kind, malicious where Rumpel’s had been gentle. It mocked her, more thoroughly than Rumpelstiltskin’s ever had, even before she had seen through his impish exterior to the man beneath.

It was clever, too. Sinuous and smooth, controlled at all times, the Dark One’s words were chosen with great care. To an outside observer, or those fortunate enough to have never heard of any Dark One, her husband would surely seem like the most charming of men. It was his way of torturing her, Belle knew.

For what greater torture could there be than to hear the smoothness of your beloved’s voice, knowing that he was dead and gone?

When Belle made no move to answer him, beginning her descent down the wide staircase in tight-lipped silence, the Dark One was more than happy to fill the silence himself. “And how lovely she looks this evening,” he purred, even the accent a nearly perfect approximation of Rumpelstiltskin’s. “Black is such an elegant color, don’t you think, dear wife?”

Black was all she wore these days. He’d insisted on it, and given her no other choice when through his magic he had filled her closet with row upon row of black dresses and gowns. Even her nightgowns and—Belle swallowed a sudden rush of bile in her throat—her underthings were black.

Belle could not stay silent forever. She could be intimidated and cowed, but never for very long. Pride, if nothing else, gave her the will to speak to the Dark One, even if she lacked the courage to tell him what she really thought. “It is elegant,” she said, stopping at the small, square landing where the stairs took a 90-degree turn, just four steps above the Dark One.  
  
He looked up at her with a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. His cold eyes were amused. “Agree to disagree, I suppose,” he said, and there was a hint of the playful imp Belle had known in the Enchanted Forest in his words.

She was not fooled, though. This was the Dark One, and any playfulness he possessed was surely a ruse, or merely a prelude to some hideous trick.

“Come along then, dearie. Dinner awaits,” he said, raising his hand to her. In her first days here, Belle had resisted all physical contact. She did not want to touch the Darkness that now resided in her husband’s body.

She’d learned, though. He’d never threatened her directly—the Dark One, she gathered, enjoyed the twisted illusion of seeming benevolence, when it suited him—but he’d made veiled but unmistakable insinuations of what would happen to her loved ones should Belle turn away from her _husband_ , and Belle had never been one to risk the wellbeing of anyone but herself.

Now, when the Dark One wanted her to take his hand, she did. She let him lead her down the remaining stairs, allowed him to tuck her hand around his arm, and did not shudder when his other hand patted hers so condescendingly.

He led her to the dining room, where, with a flick of his wrist, their evening meal appeared. Meals were always an elaborate affair with the Dark One. Rumpel, who had been a humble spinner ages before, had always been content enough with light, easy meals, and plenty forgiving as Belle had attempted to master the modern kitchens of this realm.

The Dark One preferred an elaborate setting, and food fit for a king. What good was power, he’d once mused aloud to her, if one couldn’t show it off?

Gleaming platters of silver now spread across the lengthy table, and if Belle had had any appetite, she might have been tempted by the rich aromas. As it was, she clenched her jaw tightly, willing her stomach to settle. She had to eat, after all.

She had to _survive_ , if nothing else.

“Here you are, dearie.” The Dark One’s hands lingered on her as he saw her to her chair, coming to rest on her shoulders once he’d scooted her in. Her hair often claimed his attention, and he toyed with a thick curl for an interminable moment, fingers warm as they brushed the skin revealed by the dress’s low neckline.

“Radiant. Simply radiant,” he cooed, letting his fingers drag along her collar bone with excruciating slowness before he finally moved to his own chair.

When Belle had first seen the monstrosity of a table, she’d been relieved. They’d barely be able to see one another, let alone hold a conversation, seated at opposite ends of it. But of course, the Dark One would give her no reprieve. No, they sat close beside one another, he at the head of the table, and she on his right.

This way, she could avoid neither his gaze nor his touch, turning even meals into just another extended torture session.  
  
“Aren’t you going to ask me about my day?”

She wasn’t, actually. Her stubbornness had returned, and she kept her lips pursed as the Dark One, in such a _gentlemanly_ manner, served her first.

Belle didn’t understand what the point to all of this was. She shouldn’t matter to him. It was Rumpelstiltskin who had loved her, Rumpelstiltskin who had almost— _almost_ —been willing to let go of his considerate power, all for her. The Dark One had no heart, had no capacity for love of any sort.

So why hadn’t he killed her? Why this drawn out game of hideous wedded bliss?

“I had a very interesting visitor at the shop today. Somebody you know.”

Belle took a sip from her goblet. The red wine was fragrant and smooth, but it still tasted sour and cheap on her tongue. He was toying with her, always toying with her. She knew many people in town, worried after them night and day. She didn’t know what he was doing down there, during those daylight hours when he left her all alone in this great, lonely mansion.

“A gruff fellow, calls himself Leroy.”

 _Leroy._ Oh, no.

He had her attention, as he no doubt knew he would. His memories were Rumpel’s, after all. The Dark One had always been there, to some degree or another, sharing a part of her husband. She’d known that, but had never stopped to really think it through, to really understand what it meant.

Now, when there was nothing of Rumpelstiltskin left, it made for a bitter, twisted reality. The Dark One knew her, and it made her so much easier to poke and prod at, to play with like a cat and its mouse.

“What did he want?” Belle had to ask. Leroy was her friend, and she shuddered—actually shuddered, damn it all—to think what the Dark One might have done to him.

“It’s really quite amazing. He wanted to make a bargain…concerning you.”

 _Leroy, oh Leroy_. Heart sinking, Belle carefully set her goblet down. “Concerning…concerning me?”

Fingers steepled beneath his chin, the Dark One nodded. A fire blazed in the massive hearth set along the wall, and its light cast him in shadows. He’d done only one thing to change his appearance, and that was to cut his hair. Had Rumpelstiltskin done so himself, Belle would have grown to like the look. Since it was the Dark One’s vanity that led to the change, she hated it with all her heart.

“He’s not the first, either.”

Oh, god. The Dark One controlled the town and everyone in it. It touched her heart, to think of her friends speaking for her. But it chilled her with unspeakable fear too, wondering what it must have cost them, how the Dark One had tormented or punished them for their request.

“And do you know who was the first? Do you know, my dear Belle, who was the first to ask what it would take to set you, my _wife_ , free?”

His eyes held an unholy light in them. Belle honestly couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the firelight or not, but it seemed as though flames danced in his dark eyes.

“Who?” she dared ask, fearful of his answer.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, reaching across to tap her nose once. Gripped in the icy fingers of dread as she was, Belle did nothing more than blink at the contact. “You have to guess, dearie. Makes it so much more fun that way.”

Steeling herself, Belle pushed her shoulders back. “Emma?” she ventured, imagining that the town’s Savior would surely find it in her to think of Rumpelstiltskin’s poor, trapped wife at some point.

“No, but a good guess,” the Dark One said, chuckling lowly. “Not Snow White and her little Prince Charming either, though I’m sure they’ll try eventually. They do so love playing the hero.”

They still lived, then. Belle was glad of that, at least.

“No, my pet, not them.” The Dark One pulled Belle’s hand from her lap, bringing to his lips so that he could press a kiss there. She had no choice but to lean forward in her chair, giving him a scandalous view of her decolletage.

“It was _Regina_. Regina!” He burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the long room. He laughed long and loud, the sound almost, but not quite, maniacal. “What a disappointment she’s turned out to be! When the so-called Evil Queen has worked herself into some sort of a heroic figure, that’s when you know the town needs new management,” the Dark One said sagely, as though he surely knew best.

It was, Belle had to admit, a surprise. Regina herself had imprisoned Belle in her castle, before the curse had been cast. Once, not so very long ago, Belle might have thought this change of character proof positive that anyone at all could have a true change of heart.

Now, alone, frightened, and increasingly cynical, Belle thought it ironic that her former captor had nobly tried to secure Belle’s release.

They were not exactly friends, but Belle did not like the thought of something terrible happening to Regina because of her, either. “What did you say?”

“To Leroy, or Regina?” He released her hand with a caress of his thumb, then set about preparing himself a plate with smooth nonchalance.

“Both.”

He raised a single eyebrow at her. “Regina, then,” she clarified, not wanting to press her luck. The Dark One would think nothing of piquing her curiosity only to leave her with no answers at all. He’d enjoy it, in fact.

“I told her to keep her nose out of our marriage, of course.” Something slinked across his face, a look that was at once so malicious, so dark, it seemed to raise every hair on Belle’s body.

“And then I ripped her heart from her chest and left her in the street for her boy to find. Solved my problem of deciding how best to show the town that she was no longer mayor. Oh, my dear, you really must eat something. We can’t have you wasting away.”

Not for the first time, Belle didn’t know what to do. She was frozen in horror, caught off guard by first his blase recounting of how he’d _ripped a woman’s heart from her chest_ , then by his affectionate admonition for Belle to eat.

She was living with a monster.

No, it was much worse than that.

She was living with the Dark One.

“Oh, I see that look in your eye. Now I’m the _bad guy_.” Belle forced herself to move, reaching for her fork and spearing something, she didn’t care what, from her plate.

“I’m eating,” she assured him, quiet and subdued. In went the forkful. She chewed carefully, swallowed, and repeated those steps again. All the while her husband watched her, not bothering to touch his own food.

“Much better, dearie. Can’t have anyone else suggesting that you’re not being taken care of properly, now can we? Well, anyone else, I suppose.” Apparently satisfied, he resumed his own meal.

“She’s not dead,” he said after a short while, and Belle’s thoughts coalesced on that all-important statement. Could she believe him? But she had to. She had to believe in _something_ good, anything at all.

“No, she’s merely, shall we say, out of commission. I thought it would be useful, keeping her in my back pocket. She was my apprentice, after all. Her power will never match mine, but it is nice to have a minion or two. Gives me more time to spend at home, with you.”

His smile was all feigned warmth, and it was horrid. As Belle forced herself to eat, she wondered when he’d tire of these games. Surely the Dark One had better things to do than torment the grieving wife of his host?

“I’m glad.” She didn’t know what made her say it. She still had fits of courage like that, when her desire to be brave led her to do things that were probably more foolhardy than not.

“Oh?” the Dark One pressed, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin. “Pleased that I can spend more time with you?”

Belle just resisted the impulse to bluntly tell him _not a chance in hell_. “I’m glad you didn’t kill her,” she clarified.

His smile was razor sharp, all teeth. “Of course you are. I’d expect nothing less from a lamb like you. You’re my rose, Belle. My rose without a thorn.”

That description stayed with her throughout the rest of the meal. The Dark One turned introspective, apparently content with the evening’s entertainment, and mostly left her be while he finished his meal.

He explained that he needed to work in his workshop tonight, which was in fact a blessed reprieve. Most nights he lingered in her company, handing her books to read while he poured them a nightcap in the lounge, or wandering through the house with her at his side, telling her stories she had no wish to hear about the many trophies and treasures he displayed throughout it.

Tonight he was merely escorting her through the halls of the mansion, up the stairs, along the gallery, and finally to the back stairs that would lead up to Belle’s room. He kept his arm around her waist, holding her closer than she would ever be comfortable with.

Her heart pounded s they ascended those last stairs together. He paused outside her door, his gaze hungry as he looked down at her. “Will you invite me in tonight, dearie? I can keep you warm. Your room has a nip to it. You leave your windows open to the sea breeze too long.”

His magic kept the entire mansion at the perfect temperature, as well he knew. “Not tonight. I’m tired.”

So she told him every night. But one night, she feared, he would not take no for an answer. She did not think that Dark Ones were overly concerned with the needs of the flesh, but she also suspected it was more about her torment than his pleasure. For now he kept his distance, probably relishing the way her fear increased each time he escorted her to her room.

His kiss goodnight was lingering, as usual, but chaste. He disappeared down the hall, his smooth, easy steps disappearing in the direction of the workshop he kept in the attic room where she was not allowed.

Belle undressed in the dark, careful to put on the longest and most modest nightgown she owned. It was anger, not fear, that burned in her as she crawled into bed, burrowing herself beneath the soft black silk of the bedclothes.

_My rose without a thorn._

Something inside of her was unfurling. It had been over three weeks since Rumpelstiltskin had died in her arms, and in all that time, she’d been a shadow of herself, a mechanical doll kept by the Dark One in his dark domain.

Tonight, for the first time since that awful day, she remembered that she was more than that.

“A rose without a thorn,” she whispered into the still darkness surrounding her.

She’d show him. Even if it killed her, she’d show him that her thorns were subtle, but sharp.

And she would make him bleed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters that sort of wrote itself, clocking in at a whopping 3200 words. Most chapters will be shorter than that, but since there was no natural place for a break, I decided to just post it as it. 
> 
> My version of the Dark One, as you may or may not have noticed, is not quite the same as the dark side of Rumpel we saw in Season 6, where he’s pretty much off the rails and quite bitter about how things have turned out for him and his family.
> 
> We might see some of that grittiness in future chapters, but for now, the Dark One we have here is more like his showy—but no less sadistic—impish self that formerly inhabited the Dark Castle. Still the Dark One, though.
> 
> This seems like a good time to remind my dear readers that this tale takes a deliberate diversion from canon and therefore has an AU setting. If it absolutely had to be wedged in somewhere, it would begin after the season finale of S3. Just FYI!


	3. Chapter 3

“Belle.”

She knew she was dreaming even before she saw him.

“Rumpel!” 

His hair was still shaggy and long. That was how she knew it was her beloved, not the monster that had taken his form.

“Oh, Rumpel. Rumpel, I miss you so much,” she sighed, glad to find that she was already in his arms.

They stood by the well that was tucked away in the forest beyond Storybrooke. She’d never dreamed of this place, not even once. Sometimes she dreamed of the Dark Castle, where they’d first fallen in love. Other times she dreamed of their pink house, or his pawn shop, or even their dinner dates at Granny’s. 

But the well was new to her dreamscape. This place was sacred to her, and she was glad to see Rumpelstiltskin whole and well here, where they had made their vows to one another. Just like that night, it was misty and dark, a world unto itself deep within the woods.

“I’ve missed you too, Belle. You’re so strong, so brave and _true_.”

He was wearing the same suit he’d died in. It seemed an odd choice for her sleeping self to make. Belle fussed with his lapel. “I’d rather you wore your old leather vest getup, like you did in the last dream,” she said, smiling playfully. 

“Liked it, did you?” he asked, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

His hands claimed hers, and they were startlingly warm. “Oh,” she sighed, rubbing her thumbs over the backs of his hands. “You feel so real. Oh, you feel so _real_.”

“Do I?” His hands tightened, and he pulled her hands toward him until they rested against his heart. “Then perhaps you’re finally ready.”

Belle tilted her head at him, lips pouted as she fought against a grin. “Ready for what?” Here they could have the laughter, the joy that the waking world had stolen from them. Here they could play and love, with no fear of anyone or anything coming between them. 

But Rumpel’s look had turned rather grave. Belle hoped this dream was not becoming a nightmare. That happened far too often these days, and dreams were the only place she could be with her Rumpel in peace.

“Ready to hear me, and remember what I have to say. It’s very important, darling.”

He didn’t call her dearie. Belle was glad. Dearie was what that _other_ one called her, and she didn’t like it anymore, not at all.

“I can hear you, and what’s better, I’m listening,” she dimpled. When Rumpel didn’t meet her coy smile with one of his own, she sobered a bit. “What is it, Rumpel?”

Trapping one of her hands against his heart, he brought the other to rest on her own heart, her fingers still laced tightly with his. “My heart, Belle—it still beats for you.”

“I know,” she said, her own heart shining in her eyes as she looked up at him. “I know you will always love me, just as I will always love you. Nothing can ever change that.”

“Belle, listen to me, _please_ ,” Rumpel urged her, and she felt a twinge of _something_. This dream was turning decidedly odd.

“My heart, Belle—it isn’t destroyed, not completely. There’s still time for you to save it.”

She tried to pull away from his grasp, but he refused to let her go. “Don’t be cruel. Don’t you dare be cruel to me, Rumpel, not here. Here you are kind, always kind!” she cried.

“It’s me, Belle, really _me._ ” He clutched her more tightly, pulling her so she was flush against him. “Remember what I’m saying to you: my heart still beats. It still beats _for you_. You can save it, you can save _me_. Belle… Belle!”

“ _Belle_!”

She shot awake, her body jerking so violently that she nearly rolled off the edge of the bed. 

“Are you all right, dearie?”

Sheets clutched to her chin, she raised her eyes slowly until she met the gaze of the Dark One. 

It was morning, and he was in her room. He never came into her room. Not in the mornings, not _ever_.

“I’m f-fine,” she choked out, pulling back until she was more firmly on the bed. She sat up carefully, her eyes never leaving her husband’s. “Did you…did you wake me?”

“Aye. You were having a nightmare. I was worried about you.”

The Dark One worried about no one and nothing, save for himself. As far as Belle knew, he didn’t even really sleep, so she couldn’t have woken him. “I’m fine,” she said again, simple and earnestly.

To her horror, the Dark One sat on the edge of the bed, his hand trailing up her arm. He was not welcome here, but she could say nothing to him, her words frozen in her throat. “What were you dreaming about?”

She blinked, feeling pinned beneath his intent gaze. It took her a moment to break the ice blocking her power of speech. “I don’t remember. It’s been a-a trying few weeks.”

He watched her a moment longer before finally blinking, nodding slowly. “That’s true enough, I suppose. The new house, the change in routine.”

_The loss of my one true love, the imprisonment and psychological torment of my person_ , Belle added silently, picturing thorns on her arm where his fingers now lightly played.

“Well, I’m glad it was just a dream. Join me for breakfast?” This, too, was new. Normally the Dark One waited until Belle came downstairs in the morning, but only long enough to make some remark to her about staying out of trouble - a threat wrapped in the velvet guise of affection - before kissing her goodbye and going on his way to do whatever it was Dark Ones did during the daylight hours. The only meals they shared together were in the evening, and that was already more than Belle could bear.

“I’m still tired,” she said, and it was not a lie. 

 “Yes, you do look rather tired,” the Dark One said, and at last the hand trailing her arm fell away. “Well then, it’s back to bed with you.” He reached for the sheets, and Belle had to force herself to relinquish them into his grasp. “Lie back, dearie.” 

 The monster was tucking her in, and it was worse than when he lingered each night outside her door, waiting for an invitation he must know would never come. He was in her space, invading the closest thing to a sanctuary she had, touching the sheets she slept in and tucking them around her so snugly that she could not help but feel more trapped than ever before.

“Rest, now. I’ll be home for dinner. Perhaps I’ll think up a surprise for you, something for you to look forward to, hmm?”

His kiss was longer than usual, and for one horrible moment, Belle felt his lips part, felt them nip at hers, as if seeking an invitation to deepen the kiss.

“Gold.” He did not like her calling him the Dark One, and now of all times, she was not going to press him. “Gold, I’m very tired,” she said against his lips. 

“Of course.” He drew back, stroking the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Sleep well, Belle.”

She didn’t draw a proper breath until she heard the large front doors slam shut, some long moments later. In a flash, Belle freed herself from the sheets like a wild thing, leaping from the bed as though it burned her. Her skin crawled, and she needed to dress immediately, in as many skin-covering layers as she could get her hands on.

Once dressed, she hurried into her lavish bathroom, going to the far wall and sinking against it. Bringing her knees to her chest, she sat there for a long, long while, staring at the door and half afraid the Dark One would waltz back in again.

He didn’t, and after a time, her heart slowed to a steadier pace.

And then, when her thoughts were relatively calm, Belle remembered. She remembered her dream, remembered what dream-Rumpel had said.

And for the first time in weeks, Belle felt the flickering of hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the glimmerings of an actual plot appear... Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! It has done wonders for my soul. Seriously, this is an awesome community. Now I just need to figure out Tumblr to really get in on the fun :)


	4. Chapter 4

What she needed was a plan.

Feeling marginally safe again, or at least as safe as a kept woman _could_ feel, Belle stripped off all those layers she’d piled on so she could shower. The fear that the Dark One could at any moment appear in her room again lingered still, but she forced herself to be practical. She couldn’t stop caring for herself simply because she feared his intrusion.

Besides, she always felt better when she was clean and ready, as though washing and drying her hair was every bit as fortifying as donning armor. As she carefully applied her makeup, making do with the smoky dark pallets that now comprised her collection, she thought over the weeks of her imprisonment in as removed a fashion as possible.

It wasn’t easy.

The first three days had been the worst. The Dark One had pulled her from the shop minutes, perhaps even seconds after she’d watched the light fade from Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes, all gleeful malice as he marched through town. He’d paused at the end of the street, drawing in a deep breath as he took it all in.

He’d been ruthlessly satisfied, looking over the town that would in short order belong to him. When curious passersby had started to look at them oddly, as though sensing that something terrible was about to unfold before their very eyes, he had whisked them both to the pink Victorian in a cloud of sulfurous magic.

After the mansion’s unholy creation, the Dark One had said little at first, showing Belle to her new room with all the care of genteel host. There had been steel beneath his gentle grip on her arm, however, and even then, Belle had known she would be a fool to resist him. “Grieve if you must, dearie,” he’d told her, “but not for too long. You have me, after all. It can’t be _all_ bad.” 

He’d locked the door behind her, not that she’d made any attempt to escape. It was in that moment that Belle had discovered that it was indeed possible to lose all hope, to give up and fall apart and wish desperately for the walls to fall down around her. She’d wept then, crying long and hard in keening wails that had left her throat painfully sore. When there was nothing left, Belle had curled herself into a ball on the floor beside the bed and somehow, exhausted and defeated, she’d slept.

By the second day, she was almost catatonic. She didn’t want to move from her spot on the floor, didn’t want to be a part of this new and dreadful world without Rumpel. Her meals had arrived at the foot of the bed on an elegant silver tray, appearing by magic and disappearing again a few hours later, left totally untouched by a dispirited and disinterested Belle. She’d known then that the Dark One didn’t want her to starve, at least.

On the third day, emotional paralysis had given way to rage. Her anger had been all for Rumpelstiltskin, who had fooled her, _lied_ to her, and signed his own death warrant through his unending duplicity. Until with his last breaths he’d confessed his damning sleight of hand to her, Belle had never even suspected that anything was wrong. Naive as she was, she’d believed him, believed that he trusted her enough to keep the dagger. 

Her anger, raw and overwhelming, had woken her from her stupor. That was the first time she’d stepped out of her room, almost disappointed to find the door unlocked. A part of her had been looking forward to pounding her fists on the door. But her anger had failed her when she’d discovered the Dark One waiting for her in the gallery, looking totally unperturbed to find Belle drifting through the unfamiliar mansion like a wraith. 

It had been a terrible sight to behold, knowing that her eyes were playing tricks on her, for that was most certainly _not_ her Rumpel, although he resembled him almost perfectly. Belle had been fully prepared for him to taunt her on that day he’d met her on the gallery. She expected open cruelty, gloating and speeches and the general villainy she’d seen from the likes of Regina and Zelena. Part of her had wondered if she was going to her death then, if the Dark One had only been waiting patiently for her to emerge so he could dispose of her in a more permanent manner. But he had done none of those things, blindsiding her instead with his calm if firm words, his _gentlemanly_ manners.

Every gesture, every word from his mouth had all been part of the facade, of course, but Belle had not expected him to take such a tact. What could he gain from treating her as though she were his wife instead of a powerless prisoner? From that day forward, Belle had assumed it was a unique sort of torture he’d crafted specially for her, some sort of drawn out game he would play so long as it amused him.

And then what? Belle hadn’t the faintest idea. Nothing good, she thought darkly, rubbing her temple to ward off a headache. 

Looking around her room, she had the strange sensation that she was awake, really _awake_ , for the first time since this living nightmare had begun. Something about that dream - and the Dark One’s unusual appearance in the sanctuary of her room - was pulling at her, engaging her mind in a way that nothing had since she’d been a free and happy woman. Because it _was_ possible, wasn’t it? There could be something of Rumpelstiltskin still within the Dark One, which might explain why he hadn’t harmed her yet.

But he had died. She’d been there, saw it all, held him as the light faded from his—

No. _No._ This was not the time for doubts. She’d had plenty enough time for it before, and should this all prove to be hopeless, she’d have plenty of time in the future, too. She didn’t want to go back to that haze she’d been in, didn’t want to fall back into her routine of bleak acceptance and numb survival. She was not ready to rattle the bars of her cage yet, but she was tempted at last to begin thinking again, to begin _planning_.

Forcing herself to focus, Belle took attempted a mental catalogue of what she knew. 

She was living with a madman. _Fact_. 

She was his prisoner, left to wander through her lavish jail during the majority of her waking hours. _Fact._

The town was under his control. _Fact._ At least, she was fairly certain it was. How could it not be? He was the Dark One incarnate, his magic and power nearly absolute. The citizens of Storybrooke, heroes and villains and everyone in between, couldn’t hope to stand against the Dark One.

But perhaps… Perhaps they were trying. Only last night the Dark One had told her that at least two people had gone to his shop and attempted to negotiate her release. For her efforts, Regina—Regina, of all people!—had lost her heart, making her a servant to the Dark One. As for poor Leroy, Belle didn’t know what had become of him. But if denizens of the city were approaching the Dark One and attempting to make deals, then that meant he hadn’t systematically destroyed the town or decimated the populace.

Isolated in the mansion as she was, Belle had no way of knowing what was going on in the town. But now, feeling awake for the first time in weeks, she realized that she absolutely had to find out. Unfortunately, the Dark One was her only connection to the outside world. Whatever information she could glean would have to come from him, unless she found some way to convince him to take her to Storybrooke himself.

Belle had never thought to ask, not when the assumed answer—a resounding and inflexible _no_ —had seemed inescapably obvious. But Belle had no way of knowing what his answer would be, because the most crucial fact of all was this:

Belle had no idea what the Dark One wanted.

 _Power_ , she’d assumed at first. Rumpel had never denied the importance of power, and so it had been natural for Belle to assume that her husband’s evidently unquenchable thirst for it was a result of the Dark One’s influence. Now that Belle was really giving the matter some thought, she realized that the answer couldn’t possibly be as easy as that. For one thing, Rumpel had clung to his role as the Dark One _because_ of the power that came with it. The Dark One himself had plenty of power. He might still want more of it, certainly, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was his _raison d’être._

Then what was?

“That’s what I’m going to find out,” she whispered to herself, taking comfort in her own resolve. She had to learn more about what had happened since the Dark One took Rumpel’s place. She’d been kept in the dark, cloistered in the elegant but cold mansion with only the Dark One as an unwelcome companion. Cut off from the rest of the town, she knew only what her keeper told her, and Belle would be a fool to trust anything the Dark One said.

The most logical course of action was to start where she was. With the hint of an empowered smile, Belle realized that she was in the perfect position to begin her reconnaissance. Second only, perhaps, to his pawn shop, the mansion was the ideal location to uncover the layers of the Dark One. It was here he passed the evening and nocturnal hours, and only a portion of those were reserved for forcing his presence on Belle. The rest of those hours he spent in his workshop, as far as she knew.

The only room that was forbidden to her.

Belle wondered for a moment if that frightened her. It probably should, and it _had_ , but today was not like the other days. Today, Belle had _thorns._

 _And hope_. Just the tiniest bit, but hope all the same. She’d seen the impossible happen again and again where hope was present. How could she have forgotten?

Dressed and ready, Belle moved about the mansion with a new purpose. She didn’t know what sort of spells the Dark One had set, nor did she know just how aware of her day to day activities he was. He was powerful enough to have come up with any number of ways to spy on her, and so Belle proceeded through the house not with haste, but with her usual slow progression. She ambled along the hall outside her room, following it as it wrapped around the front of the house. There was yet another balustrade here that overlooked the gallery, which in turn overlooked the foyer. 

As she had often done, Belle stopped there to gaze out the wide windows. Fall still held sway in Storybrooke, transforming the leaves until it seemed the entire world was a profusion of reds, oranges, and golds. If she’d had her freedom, she’d be out there among them, delighting as best she could in the beauty of the natural world. It wouldn’t be the same without Rumpel there to join her, or to laugh at the open wonder on her face, but it would still be _living_.

Normally she’d be tempted to linger in her memories, to carefully sift through them, separating the good from the bad and trying her best to remember the better times. Today she had no difficulty at all focusing on her intent, on her new and dangerous goal of learning what she could of the Dark One.

She went to the library next, for the Dark One had not been cruel enough to deny her books entirely. He had, however, curated the selection himself. A few, but certainly not all, of the books from her personal library were now found in the wide and well-lit room, with its floor to ceiling bookshelves and comfortable chairs. As in every room, black was the dominant color, though varying shades of charcoal and gray softened the edges of the oppressive color scheme.

Belle had not done much reading, except in the evenings when the Dark One expected her to bury her nose in a book while seated in one of the admittedly very comfortable wingback chairs in the lounge. She didn't think there was much here to help her, since the Dark One's selections for her library were almost all fairytales, ranging from the familiar to the macabre, the abiding theme featuring a villain triumphing over poor, unfortunate souls. It was his way of underscoring his triumph, she supposed.

From the library, she worked her way through the sitting room, the lounge, the billiards room, and the conservatory before finally altering her course to the room she was most eager to see. 

Only now did foreboding find her, yet it still wasn’t strong enough to keep her from her goal. Up the stairs to the gallery Belle went, and from there the back staircase. Past her room, around the upper gallery, and along the next hall she crept, walking as casually as she could, for fear that the Dark One might very well be able to track her through his magic.

It was important, she thought, that she not act overly suspicious. She was known for her curiosity, known for her desire to understand things. Surely he expected her to one day eventually work up the courage to approach his workshop. She stood before the final staircase now, and it was the nearest she had ever come to his workshop. 

 _Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow_.

Right, then. One step, then another, and soon was on the landing at the top of those stairs. Not ten feet away from her stood an ordinary, unassuming door, yet her skin crawled just to be near it. There was magic here, and powerful magic at that. Belle could practically taste it in the air.

If ever she were tempted to turn back, it was now. This was a fool’s errand at best, and could lead to more trouble than even she could imagine. Hands gripped in the fabric of her skirts, she mentally steeled herself. She simply had to know, had to discover what she could about whatever it was the Dark One did in his workshop. If the door was barred to her, well then, that would be that; and if somehow it opened at her touch, what wealth of knowledge might it reveal?

Decided, Belle stepped forward. A voice, terrible in its familiarity, stopped her.

“You know what they say about curiosity.”

Whirling around, Belle viewed the Dark One with her own wide eyes. Almost more startled to see him than she had been to hear him, she took an instinctive step backwards.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t—”

But his warning came too late. Like an invisible wave, a painful surge of raw _power_ billowed up behind her, and the last thing she saw was the Dark One’s astonished face as she was tossed through the air like a rag doll, the sound of his alarmed roar following her into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, you didn't expect the Dark One to let anyone waltz right up to his secret room of secrets, right? The next chapter isn't far behind, so if cliffies aren't your scene, you won't have long to wait to find out what happens next.
> 
> I'd love to know what you think so far! What I think is that you should trust the Dark One about as far as you can throw him...


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark and cool, and Belle wanted to stay where she was forever.

“Forever seems an awfully long time to me,” said the voice she’d know anywhere. He was holding her, she was sure of it, but she didn’t have the power to even whisper her beloved’s name. The comfort she felt, that blessed sense of security and wholeness that ran as deep as her bones, meant more to her than words could describe. If this was death, then Belle never wanted to leave it, never wanted to open her eyes again.

“You must take care of yourself, sweetheart. You’ll do that for me, won’t you? The tattered and blackened remains of a heart like mine aren’t worth you risking your life.”

If she’d had the power of speech, Belle would have argued vociferously against such a ridiculous statement. If Rumpel didn’t know by now that he was worth everything and more to her, then he likely never would.

“You’re waking now, darling. As grateful as I am that you remembered me, remembered what I told you, I’d prefer if you remembered _this_ above all else: take care of yourself, and for god’s sake, don’t trust him. No matter what he says to you, no matter how he appears to change, never, _ever_ trust the Dark—”

Against her own wishes, Belle’s eyes fluttered open before her dream-Rumpel even had a chance to finish speaking. Would she never have the chance to hear him out?

Actually keeping her eyes open proved to be a monumental task, and it became immediately clear why consciousness had asserted itself so forcefully. Someone was touching her, humming soothing words of encouragement very near to her ear. She was in pain, and while it was not too terrible, it seemed to emanate from all over her body, as though every inch of her was well and thoroughly bruised.

She groaned, and the voice—not Rumpel’s voice, but _his_ voice—stopped its stream of gentle, nearly singsong nonsense for a moment. “Awake, I see,” the Dark One said, and it was sheer will that helped Belle accomplish the Herculean task of keeping her eyes open. It was dark here, too, but not completely so. A lamp was lit somewhere nearby, casting just enough light for Belle to see that she was in a room she did not recognize.

“Where…” She stopped, swallowing thickly. Even talking hurt, it seemed.

“Drink, Belle. All of it.” A glass was pressed to her lips, and instinctively, Belle did as she was told. The liquid was warm and bitter, but she could instantly feel a loosening in her limbs. As the pain ebbed, receding to a very dull ache, her awareness sharpened, and Belle looked around her again with new eyes. She had been laid back amongst the deep, soft pillows of a massive bed which dominated a room even larger and more richly appointed than her own. They had to be in the master suite, and that sure knowledge threatened to send her into a panic.

In the dim light, her eyes sought for and found the Dark One. Just as he had done that morning, he sat on the bed beside her, close enough so that, even when he leaned away to set the glass aside, she could feel the warmth of his body beside her own. And yet Belle felt cold, terribly cold. There was no need for him to sit beside her. A chair at her bedside would have done just as well, surely. And yet there he was, pressing ever further into her personal space, and she knew that this had to be just another part of his twisted game to put her ill at ease.

And oh, was it working.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Why do you care?” The words were out of her mouth before she could think stop them. Perhaps it was dream-Rumpel's words, still fresh in her mind, or perhaps it was the fact that she’d been hurled through the air by some pernicious trick of magic on his part. Whatever the reason, the result was the same: tired, trapped, and now injured, Belle nevertheless was feeling anything but cautious.

And after all these weeks of numb mourning and near total capitulation, it felt _wonderful_.

The Dark One drew back a bit, just enough so that he could get a good look at her face. Belle was tense but defiant, awaiting his displeasure, his threats, his mockery. What she got instead was a gleam in his eyes that looked an awful lot like admiration, and a laugh that sounded almost genuinely amused.

“Well, well. So my kitten has remembered her claws. I’d wondered if you ever would. The Dark One’s eyes, made all the darker by the angle of the lone lamp in the room, swept slowly down her face until they finally rested on her lips. “Why the change though, I wonder,” he said thoughtfully, and ever so slowly, he brought his hand to cup her chin and cradle her cheek. His thumb, lightly callused, brushed across her lip, soft as a feather. Back and forth it went with excruciating slowness, and Belle seemed to forget her claws entirely, trapped all over again by the intimacy of that slight but devastating contact.

“You could have warned me,” she said, ashamed to hear her voice quivered.

“Warned you?” the Dark One asked, distracted by his task.

“About the door.”

“Ah, yes. Well.” At last, thank god, at _last_ his thumb stilled. His hand, regrettably, remained where it was, cradling her face with a familiarity that sickened her, but it was a distinct improvement all the same. “I told you there was nothing for you in my workshop. You were forbidden from going there. Isn’t that warning enough, dearie?”

Belle’s eyes narrowed. “I could have been killed,” she reminded him, though she wondered if he would have even cared. He was the _Dark One_ , and not the caring husband he so loved to playact. The fact that the boobytrap-like spell had been in place was the least surprising of all today’s events, really. Far more difficult to believe was the fact that he was here now, apparently nursing her after the fact.

He was quiet for a long while, his gaze fixed on her mouth once again. “I’m not above admitting that I was perhaps a bit hasty in my spell work.” He spoke so quietly, with a thread of what sounded very much like regret in his voice, and Belle couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d announced his plans to renounce his own dark power and return to sheep farming.

“You must understand, my dear,” the Dark One continued, “that the spell was put in place not only to prevent you, in an apparent fit of curiosity, from entering my workshop, but others as well. I’ve been robbed before, if you’ll recall.”

“By a well-meaning man ho only wanted to cure the ailing mother of his child,” Belle reminded him. 

Lightning fast, he tilted her face up, almost but not quite yet to the point of pain. “And what were you looking for, dearie? An entire _mansion_ at your disposal, the finest of everything this world has to offer, and you choose to spurn it all for _weeks_ , only to wander to the dreary old attic.” Belle’s pulse fluttered, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The Dark One’s thumb lowered again, settling against the pulsepoint, and never had Belle felt more vulnerable.

_Thorns. I have thorns._ That mantra, repeated over and over in her mind, kept the worst of her panic at bay. Swallowing, Belle found that she had no ready response. She needed to think, damn it.

The Dark One drew in a long, steady breath. “But then, you always were a funny girl, with a strange taste for the forbidden.” He chuckled, and it was one of the most effortlessly sinister sounds Belle had ever heard. “How else could someone like you love someone like me, hmm?”

_I don’t love you. I hate you. You stole my true love from me._ But Belle voiced none of those truths. “I’m lonely,” she said instead, depending on this truth to distract the Dark One.

It worked.

“Lonely? That’s your excuse for attempting to break into my workshop?” Thank every god, goddess, and mildly powerful deity she’d ever heard of, the Dark One finally released his hold on her face. “But you have me, dearie.”

Belle moistened her lips with her tongue, aware of the way the Dark One’s eyes followed the movement. “It’s been…difficult. I miss—” His eyes darkened, but Belle was determined to finish what she had begun, foolish or not. “I miss Rumpelstilskin. B-but, I’ve also realized that you… You’re not a stranger. You’re the Dark One—”

“I told you to call me Gold, dearie,” he cut in with deceptive softness.

“But you _are_ the Dark One,” Belle insisted. “And I know the Dark One. I’d just…forgotten about that. When I fell in love with Rumpelstiltskin, you were there. You were a part of him. So even though he’s gone, maybe…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish that thought. It was all a ruse, a ploy to gain what trust a Dark One had to give, yet there was an uncomfortable ring of truth there. The Dark One _had_ been an undeniable piece of the man she’d fallen in love with. Belle had always been so sure that it was in spite of the darkness in him, but perhaps it was more complicated than that.

For a long while, the Dark One was silent. Then, still without a word, he withdrew from her, climbing off the bed and disappearing into the shadowy edges of the room. Belle sat up carefully, drawing her knees closer to her chest as she waited in the taut silence. She could hear the clinking of glass, and when the Dark One walked slowly towards the bed once more, she saw a glass of amber-colored liquid in his hand. He took a long, leisurely sip, his eyes never leaving her form.

“And what would you have me do about this loneliness of yours? Shall I spend less hours working, and more time lavishing my attention on my lovely wife?” He leaned against the bedpost, the top buttons of his shirt undone, tumbler clasped loosely in his fingers.

His lavish attention was the very last think Belle wanted, but she couldn’t turn back now. “I don’t have to take you away from your work. Maybe you could take me with you to work? I could help in the shop, or…” She didn’t have the faintest idea what would appeal to the Dark One. She didn’t know what he _wanted_ , which was why she found herself in this mess in the first place. But her hastily contrived plan did have merit. If she could convince him to take her with him when he went off to do whatever it was he did in town all day, surely she’d gain invaluable insight. And honestly, what other options were available to her? Other than submitting to the so-called lavishing of his attention, which was absolutely out of the bloody question. It would be a cold day in hell before she invited him to stay the night with her, as he requested every night. And besides, for all that Belle knew, that nightly request was insincere, made only to unnerve her.

The Dark One paused in the act of bringing the glass to his lips. “ _You_ want to spend the day with _me_. Forgive me, dearie, but I was under the distinct impression that my company did not precisely appeal to you. You’re always so _tired_ , after all.”

Belle was keenly aware that she would have to tread very carefully. This, for lack of a better term, opportunity to learn more of the Dark One’s intentions and Storybrooke’s fate might never come again. “As I said, these changes have been difficult for me. I’ve just needed time to adjust to them. But I don’t want to live in my room forever. I can’t.”

The Dark One gave an elegant sort of snort. “For a moment there, I thought you might try. You certainly rebounded more swiftly when I first brought you to the Dark Castle.” He hummed tunelessly to himself, as though considering. “I’m not a fool, you know. You have no love lost for me, not when you still cling so desperately to thoughts of _him_.”

Belle flinched, unable to help herself. The vitriol in the Dark One’s voice whenever he referenced his former host was always savage. “But you’re starting to act like yourself again,” the Dark One continued, “as evidenced by your recent reclamation of your dangerously powerful curiosity streak. Fortunately for you, I’ve always found this little oddity of yours endearing.” One brow slightly elevated, he moved to the nightstand, setting his glass down there.

“All right then. Tomorrow, after you’ve rested and slept off any last repercussions from your…fall”—a fine way to describe how his magic had violently expunged her from the doorway to his workshop—“you will join me in town. I suppose it’s about time you got out, and I think you’ll like some of the changes I’ve made.” Belle could only imagine what he’d done. At least now she’d finally see Storybrooke again with her own eyes.

“But I warn you, dearie: I’ll be keeping you on a very tight leash. I know you can’t help your heroic instincts, and we can’t have you inadvertently putting yourself in harm’s way through a fit of nobility.”

She’d expected no less. But his warning didn’t faze her the way it probably should have. Her ploy had _worked_ , and for the first time since she was brought here, she was going to leave the mansion. That alone was reason enough to inwardly rejoice at her success. Belle would just deal with whatever challenges came with this new development as they came. For now, she was eager to return to her room. “I understand. Thank you, Gold.” Swinging her legs over to the side of the bed, Belle drew in a quick breath when the Dark One instantly moved to block her.

“And where are you going, pet?”

Belle looked up at her husband, refusing to be intimidated by the way the poorly lit room gave him the appearance of a shadow rather than flesh and blood. “To bed,” she said simply. “You said I should rest, and I agree. I’m very tired.”

He chuckled, as though Belle had just done something adorable. Belle would have taken issue with that, if she hadn’t been suddenly overcome with a new surge of dread. “Right you are, dearie. But you’ll sleep here tonight. The brew I gave you is powerful, and I have no doubt it’s left you with the illusion that you’re more recovered than you actually are. Budge over, now.”

Her heart clenched. Rumpel had said that to her, more than once, as they’d prepared for bed in the evenings. She’d never get used to hearing the Dark One use her husband’s words in her husband’s voice. “But—your work,” Belle said, even as she did as he told her, scooting her way to the opposite side of the bed.

“It will keep for a night. Honestly, Belle, you look like a cornered rabbit.” As Belle watched, caught between bewilderment and alarm, the Dark One took off his button down shirt, pulling it over his head so that he was now wearing a simple white undershirt and his black trousers. For the first time, Belle noticed that he was barefoot. It was the most normal, the most _human_ the Dark One had ever looked.

Fortunately for her sanity, he stopped shedding his clothes there. “Under the covers with you, dearie. We can’t have you catching your death of cold.” His hands seemed unnaturally hot as he assisted her, and though it was all done under the pretense of being helpful, for Belle, each innocuous touch was another reminder that he was the one in control.

_For now._

“There we are. Now, then. You have a very big day ahead of you. Sleep, dearie.” Well aware that any argument on her part would negate her declaration that she was willing, even hopeful to spend more time in the company of the Dark One to ease her loneliness, Belle did her best to relax. She didn’t react when the Dark One tucked his arm under her shoulders, inching her closer to his side, nor did she flinch when she felt him settle deeper into the pillows and mattress beside her, as though this was something they did every night.

With a snap of his fingers, the light of the distant lamp winked out, plunging the room into total darkness. With no other choice, Belle resigned herself to sleep in the Dark One’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun times (or, you know) in Storybrooke are ahead. Thanks for the comments and kudos! It feeds the muse :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arranging one or two things to his liking, the Dark One escorts Belle to town.

Belle had no memory of falling asleep. One moment she was tense and still, pressed closer to the Dark One’s side than she’d ever wanted to be, and the next, a clear, crisp autumn morning was dawning. It was bewildering, to say the least. She could only assume that he must have used some sort of magic on her, or perhaps her deep, dreamless sleep had been the result of the foul-tasting liquid he’d had her drink. It had taken away the worst of her pain, so it stood to reason that it could have lulled her into a restorative sleep as well. Either way, the experience was unnerving, a step in a direction she had hoped desperately to avoid. Would the Dark One expect her to share his bed every night after this?

Thankfully, Belle awoke alone, still tucked snuggly in the almost sinfully soft black satin sheets. Judging by the rumpled bed cover to her right, the Dark One had not even slipped under the covers. How very…gentlemanly of him. Stretching her arms, Belle discovered that the pain and discomfort from before was entirely gone. He’d healed her, thoroughly and well.

Which once again begged the question, why? Belle wasn’t prepared to believe that he held any love for her in his black heart. He was the Dark One, an ancient creature of utmost evil, if any number of sources were to be trusted. Perhaps, Belle thought as she gingerly swung her legs over the bed, it was simply a matter of possession. The Dark One had always and ever been an assiduous collector, a hoarder who rivaled even the greediest of dragons. In his twisted mind, the mere fact that she ostensibly belonged to him, first as his housekeeper in the Dark Castle, then as the wife of Rumpelstiltskin, might be reason enough to hold onto her so tightly.

Or maybe, just maybe there really was some piece of Rumpelstiltskin still inside of the Dark One. If some part of him, even the tiniest bit, remained entwined with the Dark One’s black heart, could it be the force behind some twisted love the Dark One felt for her?

“Maybe,” she whispered to herself, a little amazed by the hope that one word could inspire. Maybe Rumpelstiltskin lived on, just like dream-Rumpel said. That was reason enough to pursue her search of the Dark One’s plans, no matter the cost.

For now, though, Belle needed to attend to the mundane task of going to the bathroom, and she didn’t think she wanted to spend time wandering through the mansion to seek out her own bedroom. She was unsurprised to find the en suite bathroom was even more lavishly appointed than her own, the black marble and gold embellishments bordering on the obscene. As she washed her hands at one of the his-and-her sinks, her eyes fell on the toothbrush that was tidily housed in a gold cup beside the faucet.

It was hers. Investigating further, Belle began opening drawers, her growing suspicions confirmed when she found her makeup neatly stored away. Fingers curling into fists, she burst out of the bathroom, making her way to the double doors she was sure would lead to the closet. Her breath whooshed out of her as she entered the cavernous room, and she sank, practically boneless, onto the black leather chaise lounge that sat in the middle. The closet, which for its size and elegance alone would under normal circumstances have been any fashionable person’s dream come true, was filled on one side with an array of dark suits and black shirts; on the other, with all of the dresses, skirts, and blouses the Dark One had given to Belle for her own wardrobe.

He’d moved her in. That cunning, deal-making bastard had moved her into his room.

“Awake, I see.”

Speak of the devil.

Without warning or sound, the Dark One was suddenly there, lounging in the closet’s open doorway with a look of fond, if smirking pleasure on his face. Belle straightened immediately, facing him as squarely as she could from her perch on the chaise.

“You’ve seen my little surprise, then. Does it meet with your approval?”

It most certainly did not. “It’s quite the surprise,” Belle said blandly, her mouth bone dry. She thought fast, imagining thorns growing strong and hard on her skin. “You did all of this while I was sleeping?”

“It wasn’t hard, dearie. Magic is useful for ever so many things. But you don’t look pleased, treasure,” he cooed, and Belle wished she could slap the feigned look of disappointment right off of his face. “Perhaps your clothes don’t please you? I could always put together something new for you. What are your feelings on charcoal gray?”

Unable to help herself, Belle laughed, a sound that was more a scoffing explosion of air than anything. “I already have clothes in charcoal. I have clothes in every shade of black or dark gray that exists.” Suddenly remembering with whom she was dealing, she added, “And they’re all perfectly fine. I don’t need any more clothing, thank you.”

But the Dark One had a gleam in his eye, and Belle knew that look well enough to expect that mischief was imminent. “So my little wife grows weary of her husband’s taste in clothing. I suppose that’s only to be expected, hmm? Well, then, perhaps it’s time to try something new.”

Belle didn’t particularly like the sound of that. “It’s fine, Gold. I’ll just wear one of these,” she said, pointing to the row of black dresses.

“Nonsense! Today is a special day. If we’re going into town, then we really ought to go in style, don’t you think? Let’s see, now…”

Oh, god. He was going to play dress up with her. He circled around her, one hand tapping his chin thoughtfully as leisurely took her in from all angles. “Ah. The answer is so simple, really.” He twisted his hand gracefully, then, after lowing his palm towards the floor, began to raise his hand up until it reached the level of her throat. As he did so, Belle could feel the whispering weave of magic around her, that swirl of plum-colored mist that slithered up her skin like the silkiest of snakes.

When she looked down, she found that she was dressed in a day dress made of gleaming gold fabric, the lines elegant and sleek and as they clung to her like a second skin. She recognized immediately what he’d done. This new gown was the modern, Land Without Magic equivalent of the golden gown she’d worn when she’d first met Rumpelstiltskin, complete with tight, off the shoulder sleeves that were beautifully embroidered.

“Well? What do you think?” The Dark One grinned, practically preening.

Thorns or no thorns, she didn’t yet dare refuse his gifts. “It’s lovely,” she said, and while that was perfectly true, Belle wanted nothing more than to peel the dress off of her. Resigning herself to her new wardrobe selection, she raised her chin high, giving the Dark One a regal nod.

“Just a touch more, I think,” the Dark One said, eying her hair critically. With a showy flick of his wrist, Belle felt rather than saw her hair leap into a half down, half up hairstyle, thick ringlets dangling over her bare collarbone. If the light tingling of her skin was anything to go by, she was sure that he’d used his magic to lacquer makeup on her face as well.

“Better?” Belle asked, unable to hide the bite in her voice. The Dark One, looking smug, nodded. “You’re radiant, my dear Belle. You shine like the treasure you really are. In fact…” Again there was the gleam of mischief, and with the snap of his fingers, the entirety of Belle’s wardrobe transformed before her eyes, the blacks and grays and charcoals unfurling into gleaming golden fabric of every saturation and hue. “I think this is a much, much better look for you. We’ll reserve black for the Dark One, yes? And the glory of gold for his consort.”

Consort. There was a title Belle had never aspired to. Lips pursed, Belle gave a tight nod. This was not a battle she was prepared to fight, and well the Dark One knew it. “Are we ready to go now? To Storybrooke?”

With a small, dark smile, her husband offered his arm to her. “Aye, dearie. Your carriage awaits.”

The carriage he spoke of was a large and luxurious black sedan. Belle was more than a little surprised to see it awaiting them in the round drive before the mansion, but no more surprised than she was by the man who drove it.

“Dr. Hopper?” Archie, dressed in the stiff, formal uniform of a chauffeur, widened his eyes almost comically to see Belle on the arm of the Dark One. “Belle! I-I mean, Mrs. Gold,” he hastily amended, darting a fearful look at the Dark One.

“Well? Get the door for the lady, you nitwit,” the Dark One practically growled. Archie all but leapt to do as he was told, standing aside as Gold led Belle to the sedan and assisted her as she stepped inside. It wasn’t easy, since the stiff skirt of her dress was unforgivingly tight. The Dark One took the opportunity to let his hands linger on her, and as he slid inside beside her, he proved unwilling to relinquish his hold on her entirely, keeping his hand perched just this side of innocently on Belle’s leg.

“You’re making Dr. Hopper act as your chauffeur?” she asked in a hushed tone of voice, her eyes falling on the tight red curls of the man in question as he hastily took up position behind the wheel and started the car’s purring engine.

“Make? Hardly,” the Dark One scoffed dismissively. “That implies force, dearie. But we did make a deal. I promised to leave the ladies of the local diner well enough alone in exchange for his service.”

The ladies of the diner surely meant Granny and Ruby. Almost afraid to ask, Belle ventured, “What… What were you planning to do to them?”

The Dark One fixed her with an affronted look, his dark eyes boring into hers. “You wound me, dearie. I wasn’t planning anything at all as, quite frankly, they’re rather beneath my notice. But the good doctor was so eager to play the hero, apparently just like nearly everybody else in this wretched, one note town.”

Belle paused, arrested by the passionate vehemence with which the Dark One had delivered his response. It was the most sincere he had ever been, and something, a still small voice that sounded rather like her Rumpelstiltskin, urged her to take careful note of it.

There was silence as they began their journey down the long, winding road towards town, the mystically conjured trees thick and relentless on both sides. It might have been lovely, in a rather gothic and dramatic way, if Belle hadn’t known the source of the small forest. All too soon or not soon enough - Belle had no idea if she was more thrilled at the chance to see Storybrooke or more terrified at what she’d find there - their descent ended, and the trees tapered off to reveal Storybrooke proper.

It looked exactly the same. Releasing a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, Belle darted a look the Dark One’s way, wondering if he’d offer some condescending remark on her unfortunately loud exhalation. He said nothing, though she could see there was a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “I thought we might have breakfast first,” he said, eyes fixed on his own window. “At the diner, perhaps. For old time’s sake.”

Belle’s gaze shifted to Hopper, and she thought she could see his hands tighten on the wheel. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that nothing was going to happen to Ruby and Granny so long as she was there, but the sentiment was a hollow one. Despite the Dark One’s relentless attentions to her, surely she was just as powerless as the rest of the town.

 _But I have thorns_ , she reminded herself, the image of a vivid, wild rose in her mind, its many thorns misleadingly delicate but razor sharp. It was that image that had woken her from her slumber, broken through the haze of shock and fear and relentless, hollow grief, and she would not forget it.

“Breakfast would be nice,” she heard herself say, even as she wondered if it was wise. Who knew what the Dark One, with his awful power and delight in cruelty, could do to any of the townspeople he fixated on, especially women as kind and brave as Ruby and Granny? But she longed to see them, to see for herself that they were well, or as well as anyone could be with the town under the Dark One’s control. Belle didn’t see how she could safely deny such a seemingly benign request as breakfast, anyway, not in this hazardous charade she was steadily immersing herself within. And perhaps, just perhaps, Belle could divert the Dark One from any truly malicious mischief.

“Excellent,” he said, nodding in approval. “Driver, you know the way.”

Frowning, Belle looked at the Dark One beside her. “He has a name.”

“Names have power, dearie,” he reminded her, but it was an idle remark and mostly without heat. “As per the terms of our deal, he is my driver and chauffeur, and thus I find that appellation much more fitting.”

Belle had no ready rejoined for that and thought it wisest to remain quiet for now.

The Dark One instructed Archie to park around the corner, and, once that was accomplished, ordered him to stay with the car. If possible, Archie’s shoulders slumped even further as any hope he might have had of seeing Ruby, the person he’d dealt to protect in a first place, vanished like ashes in the wind. “Come along, pet,” the Dark One said, offering his hand to Belle to assist her out of the car.

As was becoming the norm, he did not let go once she was on her feet beside him. Holding her close with one arm wrapped around her waist, he used his free hand to jauntily swing his cane about as they set off for the diner’s front doors. He did not require his cane to walk these days—the seemingly unfettered use of his magic had seen to that—but evidently the Dark One still enjoyed the look or the effect of the gold-tipped cane when out and about in town.

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle saw that his gaze was fixed intently on his face. She did not return it, looking determinedly ahead. “You really do look breathtakingly lovely in that dress,” he said, close enough that his breath ghosted across her cheek. “Gold is quite the becoming color on you. You should have said something about your wardrobe before, dearie.”

She had, in fact. Well, perhaps not in so many words, but not even a blind man could have missed her open, if silent, displeasure at her choice of outfits. There was no point in saying as much now. “It’s quiet,” she said instead, taking in the deserted street. They hadn’t seen a living soul other than Hopper since they’d left the mansion, in fact. Unease rose from the pit of Belle’s stomach.

“Aye. The good citizens of Storybrooke do give me a wide berth these days,” the Dark One said, and there was a strange combination of pride and annoyance in his voice. “They seem to think I’ll transform them into beetles and stomp them beneath my heels just for crossing my path. I only did that the one time, so I’m not sure why they’re so skittish now.”

At Belle’s swiftly indrawn breath, the Dark One gave a low chuckle. “Ah, Belle, but you are delightfully easy to tease. That one was a quip, dearie.”

She didn’t much care for his quips, but, as ever, strove to swallow her desired response. “Here we are, then.” The Dark One released her from his hold so that he could open the door to the diner, gesturing her to go first in that disturbingly gallant way of his. To Belle’s nearly staggering relief, here at last were some of the missing denizens of Storybrooke. Ruby was the first one she saw, standing beside a booth in the act of taking an order. Granny was behind the counter, wiping it clean with the rag in her hand. Most of the others she didn’t recognize at first, but this was not unusual. Even before Rumpelstiltskin’s heart had turned black, Belle had not yet met everyone in town.

Every single one of them froze as they saw the Dark One had crossed the threshold into the diner, and the tension in the air was palpable. “Well?” the Dark One said, planting his cane with a solid _thunk_ on the floor. “A booth, if you please. That one, over there.” He lifted the cane to point to the same booth Rumpelstiltskin and Belle had shared on their first official date in the Land Without Magic, and Belle could have gladly strangled the Dark One then and there. Was no memory sacred to him?

The booth was not empty. Hidden behind Ruby, a short but stout man emerged from the booth, black-smudged hands clenched in fists.

“Leroy,” Belle said, and, amazed as she was to see he was alive and well, she hardly even noticed when the Dark One whipped his arm around her waist again, pulling her closer to his side than before.

“You all right, Sister?” he demanded, and the other occupants of the diner watched, utterly arrested, as the man dared to step right up to the Dark One and his bride. “No one’s seen you for weeks.” Even though the Dark One was there, right in front of him, Leroy looked only at Belle, refusing to so much as acknowledge the Dark One. Even Belle feared it was tantamount to a death wish.

“I’m fine, Leroy, just fine,” she hastened to assure him, though she feared the little smile she gave him was too forced to look even slightly convincing. But Leroy was going to get himself hurt, and she couldn’t bear it if the Dark One harmed anyone on her account, especially not someone who had been as kind to her as Leroy had.

But to everyone’s obvious surprise, the Dark One didn’t lash out at the man for his defiant dismissiveness. “Well then, now you’ve seen with your own eyes. My wife is perfectly well, just as I told you. I’ve fulfilled my part of the deal, as promised.” The entire room flinched as a dark shiver of magic billowed out from the Dark One, unseen to the eye but unmistakable to nearly all other senses. “Best you run along to fulfill your part of the bargain. It’s back to the mine with you.”

Lips parting in surprise, Belle saw the black smudges liberally covering Leroy from head to foot in a new light. It was coal dust, surely, which could only mean—

“The mine’s open? But I thought—”

“Do have a seat, dearie.” The Dark One guided her forward, guiding her to the booth Leroy had recently vacated. It was a bit grimy, and a half drunk cup of coffee remained. The Dark One fixed that all with a snap of his fingers, then all but pushed her down onto the newly pristine booth seat. His eyes, dark and glittering, lingered on her for a long moment. “Stay right here, pet. I need to have a chat with my new mine foreman.”

And then he was gone, striding out the door with a sharp gesture in Leroy’s direction. Leroy cast one long look over his shoulder at Belle, and then, with a solemn nod in her direction, turned to follow the Dark One out.

Belle jolted when a hand touched her shoulder. She’d been watching their departure so intently that she hadn’t even noticed Ruby’s approach. “Belle, thank god,” the woman said quietly, her eyes wide with concern. “No one knew where you were. There’s been talk of a search party, but everyone assumed that you were… Well…”

“Living with my husband, the Dark One?” Belle finished for her, amazed at how easily she was able to string the words  _husband_ and _Dark One_ in the same sentence, out loud. “Well, you assumed correctly.” She didn’t know what to say, especially now when she was still trying to piece together what had just transpired. The Dark One, _damn_ him, had outmaneuvered her somehow, eliciting a deal from her even though he had planned to bring her to town all along. Obviously that was what Leroy had bargained for: proof that she was alive and well. Later, when she had time to sort through this bizarre day, Belle would feel touched and heartened at Leroy’s bravery and determination. Just now, though, she was caught between blinding anger at the Dark One for manipulating her so easily into moving into his room, and loathing for falling for it so easily.

“Belle, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Belle looked up, and her heart sank to see tears in Ruby’s eyes. “Oh, Ruby, don’t. You don’t need to be sorry, really. You and I both know there’s nothing that you could have done.”

Granny appeared behind her granddaughter, her hand on Ruby’s shoulder as she looked down at Belle. “But we should have tried harder,” she said, self-recrimination stark in her words. “We’ve all been so caught up in everything else going on. Nobody knows what to do now that the Dark One is fully in charge of the town, and that’s the truth.”

Glancing at the door, Belle realized that this was a golden opportunity not to be missed. “Ruby, Granny, please. Let’s not waste time apologizing. He'll be back at any minute, so we haven't got very long. Tell me everything, everything you can about what’s been going on in Storybrooke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! A combination of vacationing, moving, and starting a new school year (I'm a teacher, yo) put a wrench in my plans to update semi-regularly. I so appreciate the comments and kudos, and hope everyone's been well!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle learns what she can about what's been going on in Storybrooke. The Dark One isn't pleased.

Ruby and Granny both glanced at the door, then at each other. Granny turned her attention back to Belle, the remorse in her eyes turning swiftly to suspicion. “She looks like Belle, and she sounds like Belle, but for all we know…”

“It’s Belle,” Ruby said firmly, her nostrils flaring briefly. “I can tell.” Granny still didn’t look fully convinced, but after another long look at Ruby, they both seemed to come to a silent agreement. Evidently deciding it was worth the risk, they moved closer, Ruby going so far as to slide into the booth opposite Belle.

“Where to even begin,” Granny groused, hands on her hips. “On the surface, not much has changed, except the whole town is on pins and needles, waiting for Gold to strike.”

“He’s not Gold,” Belle said, more fiercely than she had intended. “Not really, not anymore. Rumpel… He’s gone.”

Ruby reached across the table, giving Belle’s hand a sympathetic squeeze. “We knew it had to be something like that.”

Granny nodded. “He may not call himself the Dark One, but he sure acts like it, more so now than ever before. He’s been making dirty deals left and right, and fear of his reputation and most folks’ need to play the hero just keeps driving desperate souls to him in droves.”

Belle sighed, soft and sad. “Like Archie and Leroy.” Ruby looked stricken at the mention of Archie, and she looked away, staring fixedly at the salt and pepper shaker set to the side of the table.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, kiddo. Emma and the Charmings, Ariel and Eric, even Ruby here—seems like everybody’s making deals.”

“Granny, please,” Ruby huffed, toying with the salt shaker. “I don’t need another I-told-you-so.”

Belle was almost afraid to ask. “What did you make a deal for, Ruby?”

The salt shaker slipped from her hand, rolling across the table a ways before stopping near Belle’s elbow. “That he wouldn’t mess with Granny and the diner, obviously.”

“Or Dr. Hopper,” Granny added, shaking her head slowly.

“Oh dear,” Belle said, turning a watery smile to Ruby. It was such a romantic, if ill-fated, scenario. “A real-life Gift of the Magi situation. That’s lovely, Ruby.”

“Gift of the who now?” Granny asked, adjusting her glasses.

Belle gave a small laugh. “Never mind. Just something I read once.” Sometimes she forgot that not everyone shared her enthusiasm for literature, especially not the sort created in the Land Without Magic. “What did you promise in return?”

Ruby looked angry, which gave her a distinctly wolfish appearance. “A favor, to be determined by Gold at a time of his choosing.”

A dangerous bargain, that. Belle only hoped that the Dark One would leave her well be, but she knew too well that he did nothing without a reason, even when he seemed as aimless and careless as a feather in the wind.

“At least I was able to make a deal at all. Look at poor Regina,” Ruby said.

“Poor Regina. Never thought I’d agree with that statement,” Granny sighed.

Belle flinched at the mere mention of the woman, knowing as she did that Regina had attempted - and failed - to secure her freedom, only to lose her heart for her efforts.

“Have you heard about—”

“Yes,” Belle said quickly, gripping the edge of the table. “The Dark One mentioned it in passing, at dinner, as if it were no more serious than a comment about the weather.”

“Well, at least he’s feeding you,” Granny said in that dry way of hers. “Word on the street was that he’d thrown you into a dungeon, or worse. If you ask me, the Queen was just trying to test her power against his, and used you as a convenient excuse to make some demands. Either way, after she marched up to Gold and told him to set you free, no one dared try again. Not until Leroy, anyway. We were starting to work our courage up, but…”

“But no one wants to lose their heart like that,” Belle said.

“No,” Ruby said, agreeing. “But we should have tried harder. And if we only had ourselves to worry about, we would have charged the mansion a long time ago to make sure you were safe. But we’ve all been so afraid for each other, you know? One wrong move, and Gold might do what he did to Regina to someone we love too.”

“I understand,” Belle said. “Really, I do. For weeks, I’ve been unable to do much more than what the Dark One tells me.” At the women’s horrified looks, she hastened to add, “It’s not that awful, honestly. I just wear what he tells me, and eat when he says, and read the books he gives me, and…”

God, but it did sound awful. No, he hadn’t subjected her to a regiment of physical torture, but keeping an intelligent woman quiet and submissive through veiled threats and reminders of the power he held over her was its own form of abuse. “Anyway,” she said, determined to push forward, “what I mean to say is that I haven’t found the will to do much more than survive myself.”

“But now you’re here,” Ruby said, reaching for Belle’s hand again. “That’s good, right? A step in the right direction?”

“It’s something,” Belle said noncommittally, giving her a soft smile.

“You haven’t heard the best part yet,” Granny put in. “Gold is—”

“Gold is what, exactly?” The women frozen. Without so much as a whisper, the Dark One was suddenly there, a sulfurous tang in the air serving as a belated warning of his magical arrival. He stood beside Granny, hands balanced loosely on top of his cane, and there was a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“Our new mayor,” Granny said, her lack of hesitation to reply its own form of subtle defiance.

The Dark One sighed theatrically. “Dear me, you’ve ruined the surprise.” There was mischief lurking in his eyes, a foul, dangerous sort, and Belle grew frantic, wracking her brain for a way to divert his displeasure. No one else needed to lose a heart in this town, not if Belle could help it.

“It’s my fault,” she burst out, perhaps too eagerly. Her outburst did catch his attention, however.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he said, his voice as smoothly menacing as she’d ever heard it. “I’m gone for two minutes at most and you have all of Storybrooke spilling their secrets.”

Belle sat up straighter, her chin raised in defiance. “It’s not all of Storybrooke, and I’d hardly call your becoming mayor a secret. We were catching up, Gold, nothing more.”

“That’s right,” Ruby said. “In a small town like Storybrooke, nothing is more normal than hearing the latest gossip at the local diner.”

“Practically prosaic,” the Dark One scoffed. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

His hand was on Belle’s upper arm and pulling her out of the booth almost before she realized it.

“You’re not going to—”

“Eat? No. I find I’m not hungry.”

Granny frowned, but the sternness in her expression was giving way to fear. “And you’re not going to—”

Gold cut Granny off before she could finish. “Punish you for your little games of gossip? Hardly. I made a deal, dearie, and even I, Mr. Gold, the Dark One, must abide by his deals. I can’t harm you or your granddaughter. However…” He drew the word out, as if savoring it. “I said nothing about your little establishment here, or your patrons. And when you really think about it, talking about someone behind their back is…well, it really is rather rude, isn’t it?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as terror, stark and strong, permeated the air. The Dark One raised his hand, palm aloft, fingers curled in a gesture that would have almost been stylish had it been a shade less claw-like. For a long, awful moment, all was still. That stillness was shattered, literally, when a plate flew across the counter of the bar of its own volition, slamming into the wall with a resounding crash. Another followed it, sliding clear from the middle-aged man who a few moments ago had been doing his best to enjoy his breakfast. It too flew off the counter, joining the first plate in its smashed state upon the floor.

But this was only a prelude. Before Belle’s horrified eyes, the room was soon enveloped in a maelstrom of flying dishes, the shattering of glass all around nearly deafening. Granny gave a choked cry, and Ruby moved as if to do something, but it appeared as though she was helpless to move from the booth. Belle’s heart gave a lurch as she saw that the cutlery, too, was following suit, dancing in the air for one gleaming moment before they too shot violently away. The other men and women in the diner, few of whom Belle actually knew, were murmuring in alarm, trying to take cover as best they could. The man at the counter didn’t seek cover quickly enough, and with a shocked bellow, he stumbled forward, a dinner knife embedded in his shoulder.

It was enough to break Belle free from the paralysis of shock. “Gold! Don’t do this!” she cried out above the melee, looking up into her husband’s eyes. They were focused intently on her, burning like dark fire. “We didn’t— _they_ didn’t do anything! Please, _stop_!”

Someone else screamed in pain, and Belle, half by instinct, jerked forward. She didn’t know if her intent was to try to help, or simply to see what had happened. Whatever her intent, the Dark One stopped her, wrenching her back against his chest with such force that it rattled her teeth.

“There’s a lesson to be learned here, dearie,” he said, his voice close to her ear and horrifyingly calm.

“Then punish me, not them,” she begged. “I was the one asking questions. All they did was answer them. Please, _please_ stop this!”

He stared down at her, cold and dark and dangerous, but finally, finally, he lowered his hand, and the spell was broken. Any remaining dishes and cutlery still spinning in the air fell to the floor like puppets with their strings cut, and the only sound that followed was the whimpering of the diner’s terrified patrons. “Looks to me like you have some cleaning up to do,” the Dark One said to Granny, his eyes never leaving Belle’s face. “I imagine you’ll be closed for a few days while you put everything to rights. Such a shame, really.”

Ruby, able to freely move about once more, climbed carefully from the booth and put her arms around her grandmother. They said nothing, looking in dismay at the destruction all around them.

“Well, we’ll be on our way then.” Taking Belle’s hand firmly in his, the Dark One pulled her along behind him as he strolled to the door. Broken glass crunched beneath his feet, and wide-eyed, bloodied diners scrambled back as he passed, but he hardly seemed to notice them. Once they were out on the sidewalk, he looked down at Belle once more.

Belle’s heart was still pounding, and she couldn’t help the way her hand shook in his grip. Every inch of her seemed fluttery, anxious and alarmed by the Dark One’s show of vindictive power, and the way he was looking at her now certainly wasn’t helping. “I think it’s time I show you my new office,” he said, as calmly as one might remark on the weather. Canting his head an inch to the side, he gave her a considering look, then snapped his fingers. In a rush of billowing smoke, they disappeared from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first draft for this chapter had Gold reacting a bit more mildly to the ladies' little gossip fest. But then I reminded myself that he's the Dark One, and Dark Ones are known to be unpredictable and, well, dark. At least nobody else lost their heart, right?
> 
> Coming up: a tour of Mayor Gold's new office and some more familiar faces.


End file.
